"Well, then," the Gryphon went on, "if you don't know what to uglify is,
you _are_ a simpleton."

Alice did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about it, so she
turned to the Mock Turtle, and said, "What else had you to learn?"

"Well, there was Mystery," the Mock Turtle replied, counting out the
subjects on his flappers--"Mystery, ancient and modern, with Seaography;
then Drawling--the Drawing-master was an old conger-eel, that used to
come once a week; _he_ taught us Drawling, Stretching, and Fainting in
Coils. The Classical master taught Laughing and Grief, they used to
say."

"And how many hours a day did you do lessons?" said Alice, in a hurry to
change the subject.

"Ten hours the first day," said the Mock Turtle; "nine the next, and so
on."

"What a curious plan!" exclaimed Alice.

"That's the reason they're called lessons," the Gryphon remarked;
"because they lessen from day to day."

This was quite a new idea to Alice, and she thought it over a little
before she made her next remark. "Then the eleventh day must have been a
holiday?"

"Of course it was," said the Mock Turtle.

"And how did you manage on the twelfth?" Alice went on eagerly.

"That's enough about lessons," the Gryphon interrupted, in a very
decided tone. "Tell her something about the games."

The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and drew the back of one flapper across
his eyes.

"Would you like to see a little of a Lobster Quadrille?" said he to
Alice.

"Very much indeed," said Alice.

"Let's try the first figure," said the Mock Turtle to the Gryphon. "We
can do without lobsters, you know. Which shall sing?"

"Oh, _you_ sing!" said the Gryphon. "I've forgotten the words."

So they began solemnly dancing round and round Alice, every now and then
treading on her toes when they passed too close, and waving their
fore-paws to mark the time while the Mock Turtle sang this, very slowly
and sadly.

"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail,
"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle--will you come and join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?"

"Now, come, let's hear some of _your_ adventures," said the Gryphon to
Alice, after the dance.

"I could tell you my adventures, beginning from this morning," said
Alice, a little timidly, "but it's no use going back to yesterday,
because I was a different person then."

"Explain all that," said the Mock Turtle.

"No, no; the adventure first!" said the Gryphon impatiently.
"Explanations take such a dreadful time."

So Alice began telling them her adventures from the time when she first
saw the White Rabbit. After a while a cry of "The Trial's beginning!"
was heard in the distance.

"Come on!" cried the Gryphon. And, taking Alice by the hand, it hurried
off.

"What trial is it?" Alice panted, as she ran, but the Gryphon only
answered, "Come on!" and ran the faster.


_VI.--The Trial of the Knave of Hearts_


The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they
arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them--all sorts of little
birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards. The Knave was
standing before them, in chains, with a soldier on each side to guard
him; and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand,
and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court
was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it. They looked so good
that it made Alice quite hungry to look at them. "I wish they'd get the
trial done," she thought, "and hand round the refreshments." But there
seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at everything about
her to pass away the time.

"Silence in the court!" cried the Rabbit.

"Herald, read the accusation!" said the King.

On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then
unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows.

The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,
All on a summer's day;
The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,
And took them quite away.

"Consider your verdict," the King said to the jury.

"Not yet, not yet!" the Rabbit hastily interrupted. "There's a great
deal to come before that!"

"Call the first witness," said the King and the White Rabbit blew three
blasts on the trumpet, and called out, "First witness!"

The first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in one hand
and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other. "I beg pardon, your
Majesty," he began, "for bringing these in; but I hadn't quite finished
my tea when I was sent for."

"Take off your hat," the King said to the Hatter.

"It isn't mine," said the Hatter.

"_Stolen!_" the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made
a memorandum of the fact.

"I keep them to sell," the Hatter added as an explanation; "I've none of
my own. I'm a hatter."

Here the Queen put on her spectacles, and began staring hard at the
Hatter, who turned pale and fidgeted.

"Give your evidence," said the King, "and don't be nervous, or I'll have
you executed on the spot."

This did not seem to encourage the witness at all; he kept shifting from
one foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and in his
confusion he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the
bread-and-butter.

Just at this moment Alice felt a very curious sensation, which puzzled
her a good deal until she made out what it was. She was beginning to
grow larger again, and she thought at first she would get up and leave
the court; but on second thoughts she decided to remain where she was as
long as there was room for her.

"I'm a poor man, your Majesty," the Hatter began in a trembling voice,
"and I hadn't but just begun my tea--not above a week or so--and what
with the bread-and-butter getting so thin--and the twinkling of the
tea----"

"The twinkling of _what_?" said the King.

"It _began_ with the tea," said the Hatter.

"Of course, twinkling begins with a T!" said the King sharply. "Do you
take me for a dunce? Go on!"

"I'm a poor man," the Hatter went on, "and most things twinkled after
that--only the March Hare said----"

"I didn't!" the March Hare interrupted in a great hurry.

"You did!" said the Hatter.

"I deny it!" said the March Hare.

"He denies it," said the King; "leave out that part. And if that's all
you know about it, you may go," said the King; and the Hatter hurriedly
left the court, without even waiting to put on his shoes. "--and just
take his head off outside," the Queen added to one of the officers; but
the Hatter was out of sight before the officer could get to the door.

"Call the next witness!" said the King.

Alice watched the White Rabbit as he fumbled over the list, feeling very
curious to see what the next witness would be like, "for they haven't
got much evidence _yet_," she said to herself. Imagine her surprise when
the White Rabbit read out, at the top of his shrill little voice, the
name "Alice!"

"Here!" cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the moment how
large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she jumped up in such a
hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt,
upsetting all the jurymen on to the heads of the crowd below, and there
they lay sprawling about, reminding her very much of a globe of
gold-fish she had accidentally upset the week before.

"Oh, I _beg_ your pardon!" she exclaimed in a tone of great dismay, and
began picking them up again as quickly as she could.

As soon as the jury had a little recovered from the shock of being
upset, and their slates and pencils had been found and handed back to
them, they set to work very diligently to write out a history of the
accident, all except the Lizard, who seemed too much overcome to do
anything but sit with its mouth open, gazing up into the roof.

"What do you know about this business?" the King said to Alice.

"Nothing," said Alice.

"Nothing _whatever_?" persisted the King.

"Nothing whatever," said Alice.

"That's very important," the King said, turning to the jury. They were
just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White Rabbit
interrupted.

"_Un_important, your Majesty means, of course," he said, in a very
respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him.

"_Un_nimportant, of course, I meant," the King hastily said, and went on
to himself in an undertone, "important--unimportant--unimportant--
important----" as if he were trying which word sounded best.

Presently the King, who had been for some time busily writing in his
notebook, called out "Silence!" and he read out from his book, "Rule
Forty-two. _All persons more than a mile high to leave the court_."

Everybody looked at Alice.

"_I'm_ not a mile high," said Alice.

"You are," said the King.

"Nearly two miles high," added the Queen.

"Well, I shan't go, at any rate," said Alice. "Besides, that's not a
regular rule; you invented it just now."

"It's the oldest rule in the book," said the King.

"Then it ought to be Number One," said Alice.

The King turned pale, and shut his notebook hastily. "Consider your
verdict," he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.

"No, no!" said the Queen. "Sentence first--verdict afterwards."

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Alice loudly. "The idea of having the
sentence first!"

"Hold your tongue!" said the Queen.

"I won't!" said Alice.

"Off with her head!" the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody
moved.

"Who cares for you?" said Alice (she had grown to her full size by this
time). "You're nothing but a pack of cards!"

At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon
her; she gave a little scream, and tried to beat them off, and found
herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who
was gently brushing away some dead leaves that had fluttered down from
the trees on her face.

"Wake up, Alice dear!" said her sister. "Why, what a long sleep you've
had!"

"Oh, I've had such a curious dream!" said Alice; and she told her
sister, as well as she could remember them, all her strange adventures;
and when she had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, "It _was_ a
curious dream, dear, certainly. But now run in to your tea; it's getting
late."

So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might,
what a wonderful dream it had been.

*       *       *       *       *




MIGUEL CERVANTES


Life and Adventures of Don Quixote

Miguel Cervantes, the son of poor but gentle parents, was
born nobody quite knows where in Spain, in the year 1547. His
favourite amusement when a boy was the performance of
strolling players. He learned grammar and the humanities under
Lopez de Hoyos at Madrid, but did not, it seems, proceed to
the university. He was an early writer of sonnets, and tried
his hand on a pastoral poem before he had grown moustaches.
His first acquaintance with the world was acting as
chamberlain in the house of a cardinal, but this life he
presently abandoned for the more stirring career of a soldier.
After incredible sufferings and adventures, the poor private
soldier returned wounded to his family and began his career as
author. He soon established a reputation, and was able to
marry a quite adorable good lady with dowry sufficient for his
needs. However, it was not until late in life that he wrote
his immortal work "Don Quixote," which saw the light in 1604
or 1605. During the remainder of his life he was bitterly
assailed by the envious and malignant, was seldom out of
monetary difficulties, and very often in great pain from the
disease which finally ended his career at Madrid on April 23,
1616--the same day which saw the close of Shakespeare's.


_I.--The Knight-Errant of La Mancha_


In a certain village of La Mancha, there lived one of those
old-fashioned gentlemen who keep a lance in the rack, an ancient target,
a lean horse, and a greyhound for coursing. His family consisted of a
housekeeper turned forty, a niece not twenty, and a man who could saddle
a horse, handle the pruning-hook, and also serve in the house. The
master himself was nigh fifty years of age, lean-bodied and thin-faced,
an early riser, and a great lover of hunting. His surname was Quixada,
or Quesada.

You must know now that when our gentleman had nothing to do--which was
almost all the year round--he read books on knight-errantry, and with
such delight that he almost left off his sports, and even sold acres of
land to buy these books. He would dispute with the curate of the parish,
and with the barber, as to the best knight in the world. At nights he
read these romances until it was day; a-day he would read until it was
night. Thus, by reading much and sleeping little, he lost the use of his
reason. His brain was full of nothing but enchantments, quarrels,
battles, challenges, wounds, amorous plaints, torments, and abundance of
impossible follies.

Having lost his wits, he stumbled on the oddest fancy that ever entered
madman's brain--to turn knight-errant, mount his steed, and, armed
_cap-a-pie_, ride through the world, redressing all manner of
grievances, and exposing himself to every danger, that he might purchase
everlasting honour and renown.

The first thing he did was to secure a suit of armour that had belonged
to his great-grandfather. Then he made himself a helmet, which his sword
demolished at the first stroke. After repairing this mischief, he went
to visit his horse, whose bones stuck out, but who appeared to his
master a finer beast than Alexander's Bucephalus. After four days of
thought, he decided to call his horse Rozinante, and when the title was
decided upon, he spent eight days more before he arrived at Don Quixote
as a name for himself.

And now he perceived that nothing was wanting save only a lady, on whom
he might bestow the empire of his heart. There lived close at hand a
hard-working country lass, Aldonza Lorenzo, on whom sometimes he had
cast an eye, but who was quite unmindful of the gentleman. Her he
selected for his peerless lady, and dubbed her with the sweet-sounding
name of Dulcinea del Toboso.


_II.--An Adventure in a Courtyard_


One morning, in the hottest part of July, with great secrecy, he armed
himself, mounted Rozinante, and rode out of his backyard into the open
fields. He was disturbed to think that the honour of knighthood had not
yet been conferred upon him, but determined to rectify this matter at an
early opportunity, and rode on soliloquising, after the manner of
knight-errants, as happy as a man might be.

Towards evening he arrived at a common inn, before whose door sat two
wenches, the companions of some carriers bound for Seville. Don Quixote
instantly imagined the inn to be a castle, and the wenches to be fair
ladies taking the air; and as a swine-herd, getting his hogs together in
a stubble-field near at hand, chanced at that moment to wind his horn,
our gentleman imagined that this was a signal of his approach, and rode
forward in the highest spirits.

The extravagant language in which he addressed them astonished the
wenches as much as his amazing appearance, and they first would have run
from him, but finally stayed to laugh. Don Quixote rebuked them, whereat
they laughed the more, and only the innkeeper's appearance prevented the
knight's indignation from carrying him to extremities. This man was for
peace, and welcomed the strange apparition to his inn with all civility,
marvelling much to find himself addressed as Sir Castellan. So the
knight sat down to supper with strange company, and discoursed of
chivalry to the bewilderment of all present, treating the inn as a
castle, the host as a noble gentleman, and the wenches as great ladies.

He presently sought the innkeeper alone in the stable, and, kneeling,
requested to be dubbed a knight, vowing that he would not move from that
place till 'twas done. The host guessed the distraction of his visitor
and complied, counselling Don Quixote--who had never read of such things
in books of chivalry--to provide himself henceforth with money and clean
shirts, and no longer to ride penniless. That night Don Quixote watched
his arms by moonlight, laying them upon the horse-trough in the yard of
the inn, while from a distance the innkeeper and his guests watched the
gaunt man, now leaning on his lance, and now walking to and fro, with
his target on his arm.

It chanced that a carrier came to water his mules, and was about to
remove the armour, when Don Quixote in a loud voice called him to
desist. The man took no notice, and Don Quixote, calling upon his
Dulcinea to assist him, lifted his lance and brought it down on the
carrier's pate, laying him flat. A second carrier came, and was treated
in like manner; but now all the company of them came, and with showers
of stones made a terrible assault upon the knight. It was only the
interference of the innkeeper that put an end to this battle, and by
careful words he was able to appease Don Quixote's wrath and get him out
of the inn.

On his way the now happy knight found a farmer beating a boy, and
bidding him desist, inquired the reason of this chastisement. The man,
afraid of the strange armoured figure, told how this boy did his work
badly in the field, and deserved his flogging; but the boy declared that
the farmer owed him wages, and that whenever he asked for them his
master flogged him. Sternly did the Don command the man to pay the lad's
wages, and when the fellow promised to do so directly he got home, and
the boy protested that he would surely never keep that promise, Don
Quixote threatened the farmer, saying, "I am the valorous Don Quixote of
La Mancha, righter of wrongs, revenger and redresser of grievances;
remember what you have promised and sworn, as you will answer the
contrary at your peril." Convinced that the man dare not disobey, he
rode forward, and the farmer very soon continued his flogging of the
boy.

A company of merchants approaching caused Don Quixote to halt in the
middle of the road, calling upon them to stand until they acknowledged
Dulcinea del Toboso to be the peerless beauty of the world. This
challenge was met with prevarication, which enraged Don Quixote, and
clapping spurs to Rozinante he bore down upon the company with his lance
couched.

A stumble of the horse threw him, and as he lay on the ground, unable to
move, one of the servants of the company came up and broke the lance
across Don Quixote's ribs. It was not until a countryman came by that
the Don was extricated, and then he had to ride back to his own village
on the ass of the poor labourer, being so stiff and sore as quite
incapable to mount Rozinante.

The curate and the barber, seeing now what havoc romances of chivalry
were making in the wits of this good gentleman, ran through his library
while he lay wounded in bed, burned all his noxious works, and, securely
locking the door, prepared the tale that enchantment had carried away
the books and the very chamber itself.

None of the entreaties of his niece, nor the remonstrances of his
housekeeper, could stay Don Quixote at home, and he soon prepared for a
second sally. He persuaded a good, honest country labourer, Sancho Panza
by name, to enter his service as squire, promising him for reward the
first island or empire which his lance should happen to conquer. Thus
did things happen in books of chivalry, and he did not doubt that thus
it would happen with him.


_III.--The Immortal Partnership_


So it came to pass that one night Don Quixote stole away from his home,
and Sancho Panza from his wife and children, and with the master on
Rozinante, the servant on his ass, Dapple, hastened away under cover of
darkness in search of adventures. As they travelled, "I beseech your
worship," quoth Sancho, "be sure you forget not your promise of the
island; for, I dare swear, I shall make shift to govern it, let it be
never so big." The knight, in a rhapsody, foreshadowed the day when
Sancho might be made even a king, for in romances of chivalry there is
no limit to the gifts made by valorous knights to their faithful
squires. But Sancho shook his head. "Though it rain kingdoms on the face
of the earth, not one of them would fit well upon the head of my wife;
for, I must needs tell you, she is not worth two brass-jacks to make a
queen of."

As they were thus discoursing they espied some thirty windmills in the
plain, which Don Quixote instantly took for giants. Nothing that Sancho
said could dissuade him, and he must needs clap spurs to his horse and
ride a-tilt at these great windmills, recommending himself to his lady
Dulcinea. As he ran his lance into the sail of the first mill, the wind
whirled about with such swiftness that the motion broke the lance into
shivers, and hurled away both knight and horse along with it. When
Sancho came upon his master the Don explained that some cursed
necromancer had converted those giants into windmills to deprive him of
the honour of victory.

When the knight was recovered they continued their way, and their next
adventure was to meet two monks on mules riding before a coach, with
four or five men on horseback, wherein sat a lady going to Seville to
meet her husband. Don Quixote rode forward, addressed the monks as
"cursed implements of hell," and bade them instantly release the lovely
princess in the coach. The monks flew for their lives as Don Quixote
charged down upon them, but Sancho was thrown down by the servants, who
tore his beard, trampled his stomach, beat and mauled him in every part
of his body, and then left him sprawling without breath or motion.

As for Don Quixote, he came off victor in this conflict, and only
desisted from slaying his assailant on the plea of the lady in the
coach, and on her promise that the conquered man should present himself
before the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso. The recovered Sancho was
surprised to find that his master had no island to bestow upon him after
this incredible victory, wherein he himself had suffered so
disastrously.

In a fierce encounter with some Yanguesian carriers, Don Quixote was
wounded almost to death, and he explained to Sancho that his defeat he
owed to fighting with common people, bidding Sancho in future to fight
himself against such common fellows.

"Sir," said Sancho, "I am a peaceful man, a quiet fellow, do you see; I
can make shift to forgive injuries as well as any man, as having a wife
to maintain, and children to bring up. I freely forgive all mankind,
high and low, lords and beggars, whatsoever wrongs they ever did or may
do me, without the least exception."

At the next inn they came upon Don Quixote, who was lying prone on
Sancho's ass, groaning in pain, vowed that here was a worthy castle.
Sancho swore 'twas an inn. Their dispute lasted till they reached the
door, where Sancho marched straight in, without troubling himself any
further in the matter. It was here that surprising adventures took
place. The knight, Sancho, and a carrier were obliged to share one
chamber. The maid of the inn, entering this apartment, was mistaken by
Don Quixote for the princess of the castle, and taking her in his arms,
he poured out a rhapsody to the virtues of Dulcinea del Toboso. The
carrier resented this, and in a moment the place was in an uproar. Such
a fight never took place before, and when it was over both the knight
and the squire were as near dead as men can be. To right himself, Don
Quixote concocted a balsam of which he had read, and drinking it off,
presently was so grievously ill that he was like to cast up his heart and
liver.

Being got to bed again, he felt sure that he was now invulnerable, and
he woke early next day, eager to sally forth. When the host asked for
his reckoning, "How! Is this an inn?" quoth the Don. "Yes, and one of
the best on the road." "How strangely have I been mistaken then! Upon my
honour, I took it for a castle, and a considerable one, too." Saying
which, he added that knights never yet paid for the honour they
conferred in lying at any man's house, and so rode away. But poor Sancho
Panza did not get off scot free, for they tossed him in a blanket in the
backyard, where the Don could see the torture over the wall, but could
by no means get to the rescue of his squire.

When they were together again, the gallant Don comforted poor Sancho
Panza with hopes of an island, and explained away all their sufferings
on the grounds of necromancy. All that had gone awry with them was the
work of some cursed enchanters.

Their next adventure was begun by a cloud of dust on the horizon, which
instantly made Don Quixote exclaim that a great battle was in progress.
A nearer view revealed that the dust rose from a huge flock of sheep;
but the knight's blood was up, and he rode forward as fast as poor
Rozinante could carry him, and did frightful slaughter among the sheep,
till the stones of the shepherd brought him to the earth. "Lord save
us!" cried Sancho, as he assisted the Don to his feet. "Your worship has
left on his lower side only two grinders, and on the upper not one."

Later, they came upon a company of priests, with lighted tapers,
carrying a corpse through the night. Don Quixote charged them, brought
one of the company to the ground, and scattered the rest. Sancho Panza,
whose stomach cried cupboard, filled his wallet with the rich provisions
of the priests, boasting to the wounded man that his master was the
redoubtable Don Quixote of La Mancha, otherwise called the Knight of the
Rueful Countenance. When the adventure was over, Don Quixote questioned
his squire on this name, and Sancho replied, "I have been staring upon
you this pretty while by the light of that unlucky priest's torch, and
may I never stir if ever I set eyes on a more dismal countenance in my
born days."

The next enterprise was with a barber, who carried his new brass basin
on his head, so that it suggested to Don Quixote the famous helmet of
Mambrino. Accordingly, he bore down upon the barber, put him to flight,
and possessed himself of the basin, which he wore as a helmet. More
serious was the following adventure, when Don Quixote released from the
king's officers a gang of galley slaves, because they assured him that
they travelled chained much against their will. So gallantly did the
knight behave, that he conquered the officers and left them all but
dead. Nevertheless, coming to an argument with the released convicts,
whom he would have sent to his lady Dulcinea, he himself, and Sancho,
too, were as mauled by the convicts as even those self-same officers.

It now came to Don Quixote that he must perform a penance in the
mountains, and sending Sancho with a letter to Dulcinea, he divested
himself of much of his armour and underwear, and performed the maddest
gambols and self-tortures ever witnessed under a blue sky.

However, it chanced that Sancho Panza soon fell in with the curate and
the barber of Don Quixote's village, and these good friends, by a
cunning subterfuge, in which a beautiful young lady played a part, got
Don Quixote safely home and into his own bed. The lady, affecting great
distress, made Don Quixote vow to enter upon no adventure until he had
righted a wrong done against herself; and one night, as they journeyed
on this mission, a great cage was made and placed over Don Quixote as he
slept, and thus, persuaded that necromancy was at work against, him, the
valiant knight was borne back a prisoner to his home.


_IV.--Sancho Governs His Island_


Nothing short of a prison cell could keep Don Quixote from his sallies,
and soon he was on the road again, accompanied by his faithful squire.
To Sancho, who believed his master mad, and whose chief aim in life was
filling his own stomach, these adventures of the Don had but one end,
the governorship of the promised island. While he thought the knight
mad, he believed in him; and while he was selfish, he loved his master,
as the tale tells.

It chanced that one day they came upon a frolicsome duke and duchess who
had heard of their adventures, and who instantly set themselves to enjoy
so rare a sport as that offered by the entertainment of the knight and
his squire. The Don was invited to the duke's castle as a mighty hero,
and there treated with all possible honour; but some tricks were played
upon him which were certainly unworthy of the duke's courtesy.
Nevertheless, this visit had the happiest culmination, since it was from
the hands of the duke that Sancho at last received his governorship.
Making pretence that a certain town on his estate, named Barataria, was
an island, the duke dispatched Sancho to govern it; and after an
affecting farewell with his master, who gave him the wisest possible
advice on the subject of statecraft, Sancho set out in a glittering
cavalcade to take up his governorship, with his beloved Dapple led
behind.

After a magnificent entry into the city, Sancho Panza was called upon to
give judgment in certain teasing disputes, and this he did with such wit
and such wholesome commonsense that he delighted all who heard him.
Well-pleased with himself, he sat down in a grand hall to a solitary
banquet, with a physician standing by his side. No sooner had Sancho
tasted a dish than the physician touched it with a wand, and a page bore
it swiftly away. At first Sancho was confounded by this interference
with his appetite, but presently he grew bold and expostulated;
whereupon the physician said that his mission was to overlook the
governor's health, and to see that he ate nothing which was prejudicial
to his physical well-being, since the happiness of the state depended
upon the health of its governor. Sancho bore it for some time, but at
length, starting up, he bade the physician avaunt, saying, "By the sun's
light, I'll get me a good cudgel, and beginning with your carcase, will
so belabour all the physic-mongers in the island, that I will not leave
one of the tribe. Let me eat, or let them take their government again;
for an office that will not afford a man his victuals is not worth two
horse beans."

At that moment there came a messenger from the duke, sweating, and with
concern in his looks, who pulled a packet from his bosom and presented
it to the governor. This message from the duke was to warn Sancho that a
furious enemy intended to attack his island, and that he must be on his
guard. "I have also the intelligence," wrote the duke, "from faithful
spies, that there are four men got into the town in disguise to murder
you, your abilities being regarded as a great obstacle to the enemy's
design. Take heed how you admit strangers to speak with you, and eat
nothing that is laid before you."

Sancho set out to inspect his defences; but with every step he took he
was confronted by some problem of government on which he was called upon
to adjudicate. Harassed by these appeals, and half famished, our
governor began to think that governorship was the sorriest trade on
earth, and before a week was over he addressed to Don Quixote a letter,
concluding, "Heaven preserve you from ill-minded enchanters, and send me
safe and sound out of this government." One night he was awakened by the
clanging of a great bell, and in came servants crying in affright that
the enemy was approaching. Sancho rose, and was adjured by his subjects
to lead them forth against their terrible foes. He asked for food, and
declared that he knew nothing of arms. They rebuked him, and bringing
him shields and a lance, proceeded to tie him up so tightly with shields
behind and shields before that he could scarcely move. Then they bade
him march, and lead on the army. "March!" quoth he. "These bonds stick
so plaguey close that I cannot so much as bend my knees!" "For shame!"
they answered. "It is fear and not armour that stiffens your legs." Thus
rebuked, Sancho endeavoured to move, but fell flat on the earth like a
great tortoise; while in the darkness the others made a clash with their
swords and shields, and trampled upon the prone governor, who quite gave
himself up for dead. But at break of day they raised a cry of "Victory!"